Unlucky - Poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar

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The greatest discovery one can find, Is the doing of their own thing.With a doing that comes to occupy the mind.And to do it done not to express what it is, Time after time...What it is that has been found to bring to them...Such a satisfaction that qualifies with it given, To leave them devoted to a feeling left unspoken.

Experiencing a joy and happiness daily felt, Is like loosening one's belt...Each moment one prepares to dine upon a feast.While others digest thoughts of being unlucky to confess, And finding no enjoyment at all...To duplicate what another has found, That has been a life long quest! Yet others observing interpret this as 'luck' one gets.

'You quack too much.As if born a duck.Why don't you give that up and be the rabbit you are.'

~But rabbits don't quack.~

'Exactly! How many times have you been told that? '

~But I would find more luck 'if' I'd been born a duck.~

'Pursue with a doing to be that rabbit.'

~What is it that rabbits do? ~

'That's on you.I'm a duck.And discovering 'that' has made me too happy.'